Locked Up
by I-Am-A-Night-Troll
Summary: I'm Boo. Boo Radley. Okay my name really isn't Boo. It's Arthur, and I'm not really crazy. My dad is dead, but I didn't kill him. I just stabbed him. A little." Some swearing.


A/N: Hey, this is basically To Kill A Mockingbird from Boo's point of view. I wrote this for my English class. I feel that he would have a sarcastic and kind of depressed view on life. Just to warn some people, there is swearing. Not a whole lot, but there is some. Enjoy :)

Locked Up

Preface:

I am crazy. Or so they say. Supposedly, I tried to kill my whole family. That isn't true. Well, most of it anyway. I only stabbed my dad in the leg with a pair of scissors. It's not like I killed him anyway. But Miss Stephanie Crawford had to run her big mouth. Now I'm the most feared person to little kids. I am over six and a half feet tall with yellow, nasty teeth and a long jagged scar on my face. Did I mention the blood stained hands and the squirrel eating? Just thinking of the squirrels I'm going to eat makes me drool. Yeah, that's me. Boo! No, really, I'm Boo. Boo Radley. Okay my name really isn't Boo. It's Arthur, and I'm not really crazy. My dad is dead, but I didn't kill him. I just stabbed him. A little. I know that makes me sound crazy, but you didn't have to live with him. That no good, foot washing Baptist should've been gone a long time ago. He was my dad, but that doesn't entitle love. I never meant to scare my mother, but I couldn't take it anymore. I had to do something. The whole stabbing incident was his fault. He should've just sent me to industrial school with the rest of my gang. But my dad in his thick skull wouldn't let me go. God damn him. God damn him to hell where he belongs.

Continuing:

The dusty courtroom was alive with the buzz of anticipation. People just couldn't wait to see what would happen to the "gang". The worst thing since colored people in the town. I hated the feeling of many eyes boring into the back of my head. I hated people whispering behind my back, right in front of my face. God, why couldn't I just be alone? Instead, I focused on what the judge was saying, unlike my friends who were staring off into space.

"With the charge of grand theft auto and locking the town beadle in the outhouse," Judge Taylor started. We all had to laugh at the last part of that sentence. What? That was funny. "All of you boys are sentenced to go to industrial school. You are lucky that there are black people in the jail, otherwise you would be sitting in a comfy jail cell."

Those two sentences basically sealed my fate. My father stood up, outraged. He made a bee-line to Judge Taylor, weaving in and out of the murmuring groups of onlookers.

The old man pleaded with Taylor, "Sir, Arthur can't go to industrial school with those scoundrels. Can't you come up with something else for him?" When I had heard that, I knew nothing good was going to come of it. I was going to be seen as the one who got preferential treatment, even though I didn't want it. Along with that, I was unable to get away from my father. Great.

"Well, since you seem so keen on protecting him, keep him at home and keep a close eye on him," Taylor responded after some thought.

I was wrong, that sentence basically sealed my fate. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

My father made his way back to me and said, "Come on Arthur. We are going home. Now." He didn't have to say the words to show his true meaning. I guess I had it easier than some. Unlike the Ewells, I only got verbally abused. Who would have guessed? My Baptist, all is holy, dad likes to abuse his children? Seems he had the whole town fooled. On our way home, he said nothing. We passed the idyllic scene of trees swaying in the breeze and kids enjoying their summer. Still, he said nothing. Which was fine with me; I reveled in the silence. Unfortunately for me, the silence only lasted until we got inside the door. Got to keep up appearances, and can't let the neighbors know what's up, or God forbid! "Arthur! What in Sam's hill name were you thinking?" my father yelled.

I answered back sarcastically, "I was just trying to make you proud."

"Are you really that dumb? I knew you were, but this exceeded my expectations. I never thought that I could have fathered such a simple-minded kid, but here we are. We are not trash. But with you running around the Cunninghams? People are starting to think that we are."

"Cunninghams are not trash. If anything, you are making this family trash with the vice grip that you have over the entire family. Their father is way more of a father than you could ever be! No wonder Nathan left!" With that, he slapped me. I remember it to this day because that was the first time that my father ever laid a hand on me. That is also when I lost all respect towards my father. He wasn't even my father in my mind anymore. He was just this person in my life that I didn't want to associate with.

He just stared at his hand as if it weren't a part of his body. "Son, I-I'm..."

"You know what? You can take your apology and shove it up your ass. Don't ever try to talk to me again," I bit out as I ran up to my room, slammed my door, and threw myself onto my bed. Looking around my plain room, I got depressed. No pictures, no color, nothing to make it look like I was staying there forever. My life was officially over. I would have killed myself right there, but I had to live to spite my dad. If he thought that I was making our family trash, then I would live to make us as bad as the Ewells. He _will _regret his words.

I guess my plan wasn't as thought out as I planned. Discrediting my father as a worthy enemy probably wasn't the smartest thing to do. I haven't seen sunlight in two years, four months, six days, five hours, and a odd number of minutes. Yes, I counted. There wasn't much else I could do. My father basically was a Drill Sargent. Wake up at an un-Godly hour, make me do chores all day, and go to sleep at seven o'clock every night. The only time that I get to see a glimpse outside world is when I sneak out at night, which is a lot harder than you think. I don't know how teenagers across America do it. But, then again, they don't have the dad that I do. I swear, that man can wake up if he hears a pin drop. Even though I wasn't a religious person, I prayed every day that my dad would drop dead.

Eight years, seven months, 15 days. That is how long that I've gone without light. My mother looks at me with sympathy. I hate it when she does that because my mother knows what I'm going through. Being a teenager, you have blinders that block out everything besides what pertains to yourself. My mother had to live in this hell hole while I got to go out and run around. I never even noticed. I was too busy trying to act cool and hang out with my friends. Mom used to have a joyous light shining in her eyes. Now, the only thing left in her eyes is a dull blackness. I can't believe that my father would do that to her. It kills me. I could take it if I was the only one that my father kept under lock and key, but not if my mom is there with me. If I could've got out of there, I would take my mother and I far, far away. My father would never be able to find us. We would be happy. The one thing that both of us longed to be.

12 years, four months and four days. I am slowly starting to lose the waning battle of depression. My mother already lost the life-long battle. The only thing that she does is sleep _all_ day. I can't even get her to utter a single word. The days seamlessly fold into nights. Summer air is filled the memories that I'll never have. Claustrophobia fills every fiber of me. I swear, I'm beginning to become a part of the house. Come here after a thousand years and you will find me, spiderwebs and all, still sitting by the window. Slowly, I made my way to the window. I just wanted to get a peek of outside. For the past twelve years, no windows have been opened. It gets so hot and stuffy in here, but my dad still won't open them. I decided to change that. Slowly inching the moldy brown curtains up, I finally made it to the latch. Only opening them to go. I quietly lifted the window up. It was almost all the way opened when the old window creaked. My dad came flying down the stairs like a bat out of hell. Damn. I knew it was too good to be true.

"What the hell are you doing?" My father basically screamed at me.

I pleaded, "I just wanted a breeze. It is way too hot in here. Please."

"No. Knowing you, you will probably just escape and make our family look worse, if that's possible. Now, get to your room before I make you wish you never been born, boy."

I whispered underneath my breath, "Too late." Slowly stalking up into my room, I came up with a plan. I just had to figure out how to pull it off.

My old friends had a life, unlike me. I sat at the worn dining room table clipping newspaper articles from _The_ _Maycomb Tribune_ that described how well they were doing after they got out of industrial school. If my father ever gave me anything, it was teaching me how to read. Who knew that going to church and reading the Bible would have given me something to use later in life? My mother and father were fighting. Not like it was an uncommon thing. They fought over the littlest things. Taking out the trash, getting the mail, and things like that started spats that could last for hours. I was just glad that mother was getting some of her spunk back. It's been too long. But I couldn't take it anymore. When my mother swiftly walked by, I whispered, "Hide." As usual, my father followed my mother out of the room. I now knew what I had to do.

"Just wait a minute," My father yelled at my mother. He didn't even see me sitting there. Right when he was about to pass me, I plunged to rusty scissors as far as I could into his lean leg. He immediately dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Score!

When I looked up from the gushing blood, I gazed into my mother's eyes. The light still wasn't there like I wanted. Instead, it was fear. I honestly don't know why. I did this to get her out from the oppressive hold of my father. Until later in life, I still didn't understand. But I found out. Even though my father was horrible to my mother, she still loved him. For what reason? I don't know. All I know is that the power of love can be blinding. She ran out of the house screaming, "He's going to kill us all!"

Unfortunately, this little "stunt" end up putting me underneath the courthouse basement. If people thought that the moldy smell in the courthouse was bad, the basement was suffocating. The only light I got was from a tiny, translucent window all the way at the top of the ceiling. This made me more lonely than before. How would you feel if you got to see light, but couldn't see out? Couldn't open it and smell the fresh cut grass? Teasing you, it only lets you exercise one of your senses. What I would've given to use all of them. Some people have it so lucky.

Perpetual colds were the reason that I came home. If I hadn't, I would have died from the mold in that God forsaken basement. Not that would have been a bad thing. Would have saved me years of loneliness. Father was none too happy when he had to take me home. He didn't come out and say it, but you could feel it in the air. "If you ever even think about stabbing me again, I **will** send you to jail with the bottom feeders. I will do it without a second thought. Do you understand me?" My father spoke angrily to me.

"Yes sir," was my only response. I knew I couldn't fight him. Pushing a stable wall over would be easier than trying to make my dad like me. I didn't know it then, but those were the last words that I ever spoke to him.

It was a normal sunny day when my family heard of the rumors that Miss Stephanie Crawford spread. She said that I was six and a half feet tall, like to eat cats and squirrels with my blood stained hands, and had a ugly scar going across my face. To make it better, I had yellow and rotten teeth and drooled most of the time. I, for one, didn't mind anything that she said about me. Her description of me was completely inaccurate. I was probably one of the most plain looking guys you could ever meet. With my pale skin and my pale hair and no remarkable traits, I looked like someone you could trust. If she wanted to spend her time making stories up about me for her own entertainment, it was her will. But father didn't see it that way. He came bursting into the house ranting about how the nosy gossip should just stick to talking about the trash in town. I wasn't trying to pay too much attention. _Darwin's Theory of Evolution_ had captured my senses. The book had to be covered with a bible facade because my father would flip if he say his son with the devil's work. But, oh well. I was sitting in the worn, dark blue velvet chair that I had grown to love, reading a book that fascinated me. The day seemed like a good day. I was trying to focus on the description of humans evolving from monkeys, but an awful choking was emanating from the kitchen where my parents were. Looking up, I saw my father fall to the ground, his face blue. Oddly enough, it didn't give me satisfaction. It just gave me a funny feeling low in my stomach. I later associated it with guilt. The last thing that I said to my father was, "Yes sir." That's it. Nothing with personality. Just a coldness that I was trying to mimic from him. After the ambulance came and got him, I ran upstairs and emptied my stomach contents into my porcelain haven.

A couple of weeks after my father passed away, my brother Nathan moved back from Pensacola. Before, I only saw him at Christmases. I didn't need to see anymore of him to know that he ended up exactly like my father. At least he had a life. 33 years old, still living at home doing nothing is kind of pathetic. It's been far too long since I've gone outside. Too long since I've interacted with people besides my family. If I tried to integrate with the public now, I'm afraid of cracking from the sheer intensity of it all. Contemplating what I was going to do, I walked past our almost boarded living room window. There was movement outside of the house. I had to stop and find out what was going on. Three little kids, no more than ten, were hugging the streetlight outside of the house. The oldest one was a tall and stick-like boy with a head of dark brown hair. There was also a girl, or what I thought was a girl. She had overalls on and her hair cut into a short bob. The two must've been brother and sister with the same dark brown hair. Boy, was the last one small. He looked even smaller than the girl. They weren't related though. He had very light hair that stood up in the back. All of them looked like they were scared. I knew the look because I saw it everyday in the mirror. Both the boys shook hands and the dark-haired one took off towards the house. He skidded to a stop before our front door, touched it, and then raced back to his group. I closed the shutter all the way. Very strange ones they were.

I asked my brother who they were the next day. According to him, the brother and sister are Jeremy and Jean Louise Finch, kids of the defense attorney Atticus Finch. The little boy is a new one two town. In Nathan's words, "That loser boy is a bastard child whose relatives don't want him." He looks like he is five, but he is a little bit older than Jean Louise but a couple of years younger than Jeremy. This neighborhood is not known for its kid population. It is known for cranky old people with a few good ones here and there. This would be my only outside contact that I could bear. I ran up the creaky stairs to find my long ago hidden stash. No, it wasn't drugs or alcohol. It was little things from my childhood. I wanted to share these with the kids just to make their days a little brighter. Definitely not in a creepy way.

As night fell upon our house, I slowly rose out of bed, grabbed the blue checkered cloth filled with my things, and made my way out of my house. It was risky. If Nathan caught me, it would be bad. He wouldn't hold back on the physical violence unlike my father. But I had my mind set. There was this giant old oak tree on our property. I knew that the kids passed it everyday on their way to school. So in the darkness of the night, I placed two pieces of Wrigley's Double-Mint gum and two shiny Indian head pennies in a black velvet jewelery box into a hole in the tree. When the sun would be shining, the gum wrappers will be shining. It will catch the kids eye and peak their curiosity. I knew that they would be able to find the gifts.

As Nathan went into town every day, I would sit in the window and watch the world go by through the crack. Mother now never came out of her bedroom. I didn't miss her so much anymore. My mind was preoccupied with a new subject. From my seat, I saw the Jeremy, Jean Louise, and Dill act out something for fun. I didn't know what exactly they were acting, but it looked like they were having fun. Ah, to be young. It wasn't until Jeremy snuck inside his house and came back with a pair of scissors, did I know what they were acting. They were performing the story of my life, or at least what they heard. Everyday, it seemed to grow until it was long enough for a play. More elaborate and funny things were added. But one day, it came to a screeching halt. I didn't find out 'till later that Nathan had said something to Atticus. Too bad. I was really getting into it.

I was treated to a different performance. The kids were walking back when it looked like Jeremy got mad at Jean Louise. I was too far away to hear what they were saying. Pretty soon, they came from around the Finch house with a tire. Jean Louise got in and Jeremy pushed as hard as his little body could push. Man, did she go flying. Tumbling, faster and faster, towards my house, it didn't look like she would be able to stop. She ended up stopping after she made it up a few of the front porch steps. Disorientated, she staggered out of the wheel and almost fell down. Watching her try to run was one of the funniest things I've seen in my life. In her altered state, she left the tire still in the front yard. Jeremy came running like the dickens, grabbed it, and took off again. I fell on the ground in hysterics because it was so funny.

Rustling in the bushes late at night alerted the house that something was up. Nathan shot up, no pun intended, of bed and grabbed the gun that was leaning against his bedroom door frame. Next, I slowly got up and tried to wipe the sleep from my eyes. Nathan was already in the front window trying to see what was going on. Instead of going to stand next to him, I went out to the front porch. There was a little shadow in shape of a boy crouching in the light. I reached out to touch him, but I changed my mind. My brother was coming so I went up to my room. The crack from the gun split the calm silence of the night. I froze in fear. The kids were outside. Nathan was firing at the kids. I saw them. Crap!

In the middle of all the commotion, the neighborhood woke up and accumulated in the streets. Nathan had to join him. After he left, I snuck out to go look at the fence that was in our backyard. Ripped boy's pants were caught in the fence. They looked to be about Jeremy's size. I had to take them inside before Nathan saw them. Creeping back inside, I searched for my mother's sewing kit. I wanted to mend his pants. It was going to turn out bad, but I knew he was going to be back. After mending and folding the little pants, I placed them back on the fence. That way, he doesn't have to risk trying to get his pants and my brother shooting him.

Nothing exciting was happening in my house like usual. Nathan left early for town everyday, mother stayed in bed, and I watched out of the window. A couple of nights passed by and I decided to risk going out again. This time to leave a ball of twine, soap dolls that I fashioned to look like them, a spelling bee medal that I won when I was little, a pocket watch with a aluminum knife, and whole package of gum. I hoped that they would take them.

The tree is filled with cement. It sounds like a weird thing, but you do it when the tree is dying. Ours wasn't. Nathan must've found out that I was leaving gifts for the kids. He destroyed the one good thing that I could do for the kids. I hate him.

Winter in Maycomb is usually a little bit colder than the autumn. But not much. This year was weird. Snow, light and fluffy, actually fell from the sky. Kids everywhere rejoiced while the parents blamed them. There is some rock that says it will snow when kids do something bad. I didn't believe it like Nathan. One full day passed with snow and a tragedy already happened. Flames were blazing late at night. My brother went to help out. I, on the other hand, wasn't allowed to. Instead, I watched the color of red fill the night sky from the front porch. I was scanning the streets to watch people's reactions when I saw the Finch kids by the tree. Jean Louise was shivering. It didn't even look like her or her brother noticed. They were too enraptured with Miss Maudie's house burning. Making a swift decision, I sprinted to hallway closet, grabbed a old, brown wool blanket, and exited the house. I placed the blanket on her shoulders and snuck back away into the "haunted" house.

Mother died. It's bad, but I didn't notice her absence. She was gone years before her body was. Now it is just Nathan and me in the old house. He only seems to talk about one thing. A rape trial. It was the talk of the town. The biggest thing that happened since Mr. Dolphus Raymond married a nigger and had mixed babies. Apparently, the white trash of the town, the Bob Ewell, accused a nigger, Tom Robinson, of raping his eldest daughter, Mayella. Anybody who would walk by the house would be talking about the trial. Of course, they thought that Tom was guilty. "He is black. Of course he is guilty. That is what niggers do." I had a slightly different take. I empathized with him. People judging you before they know you isn't a very good feeling.

It was a hot summer day when Tim Johnson cam strolling down the street. Tim isn't a person, he's a dog. He's a dog that is rabid. You could tell from the look in his eye and the way he was slowly walking. Though, I had nothing to worry about. There was no way that dog could get into the house and there was no way that I was going outside during the day. But there was a threat in the neighborhood. If you got rabies, you died. There is nothing that they can do except give you drugs to lessen the pain. I was worried about the kids. They didn't deserve to die like that. Calpurnia's warning through the neighborhood was a savior from my morbid thoughts. I soon saw the sheriff show up with a gun. He was pointing it at my house. Why? Because the dog was now in the front. If the bullet missed, it could make an appearance inside. The sheriff wasn't known for his accuracy. I was holding my breath as he looked down the sight. But a sigh of relief soon escaped my lips. He gave the gun to Atticus Finch. Good ol' One Shot Finch. I heard stories when I was little from my father about how he tried to beat Atticus in a shooting contest. Yeah, my father lost big time. Calmly, he raised his rifle, got closer, and shot the dog. Down he went. Somewhere in the middle of his approach, he dropped his glasses and stepped on them. He didn't seem to mind much. Atticus, the hero, turned and his children ran to him.

The first day of the trial is officially here. People from everywhere flocked to town. City-folk and country-folk blended together in the street by my house. It was quite a show to watch all sorts of people walk down the street in their Sunday best. Didn't they know that a person could die due to the trial? If they did, they didn't care. Lead must fill their hearts.

The verdict came back and Tom was found guilty. But Bob Ewell was still making a big stink. Atticus showed how much of white trash he was in court. Bob vowed to get Atticus. I knew that the sneaky son of a bitch would do something underhanded to get at him. Halloween was approaching fast. It was only fitting that someone was sneaking around in the dark. There was a pageant in town that everybody went to. I knew that Bob would do something that night. My post was at the front window and my mission was to take down Bob.

The kids were late walking home. I could tell it was them because I could see the stripe of fat on Jean Louise's costume. Jeremy was guiding her by grabbing her head. They were at the tree when the drunken Bob attacked. Something glinted in the streetlight. I then realized that he was trying to stab the young girl. If it wasn't for the metal cage of her costume, she would have died. I made a snap decision and grabbed a kitchen knife. Running faster than I ever have before, I threw Bob off of Jean Louise and plunged the knife into his chest. He was dead.

I snapped. I couldn't stop shaking. After a decade and a half of being cooped up in my house, I finally snapped after I went outside. The main thing was the kids were safe. It made me happy. They were safe. Most of my life, I was alone. It felt good to do something productive for other people. Jem and Scout were safe.

Epilogue:

I never saw them in person again, but I wasn't that sad about it. The events in my life changed me, and I was no longer comfortable in the outside would. Surprisingly, I was okay with that. I got to see everything that was going on, but didn't have to deal with the people. My life continued in the secluded loneliness that I wanted.


End file.
